


A Weighty Conscience

by porki_buns



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Belly Kink, Body Image, Body Worship, Chubby Draco Malfoy, M/M, Post-Canon, Size Difference, Stuffing, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, fat Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25801537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/porki_buns/pseuds/porki_buns
Summary: Draco Malfoy has a guilty conscience that eats away at him more quickly than he can eat through every pastry shop and take-away in Paris.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 9
Kudos: 224





	1. Shame

**Author's Note:**

> *Changed title because I'm a Gemini like that.

His fingers are still sticky with the pastries he’d just finished eating with his morning coffee, so it’s not exactly a mystery as to why the needle on his scale is pointing where is. He pressed his fingers into the soft skin on his stomach, a fatty layer that two months ago certainly hadn’t been there when he first arrived in the city. Nearly ten kilos heavier in such a short amount of time was alarming and he felt a hot coil twisting in his gut. It wasn’t even as though he saw enough people to feel ashamed of being caught slowing packing away weight onto his slender frame but he felt his face starting to run hot from the shame of it. He gave the offending fat a harsh, bruising pinch and bit his lip, angry with himself.  
  
Draco had moved to their Paris residence shortly after both his parents received guilty verdicts through the Wizengamot. He needed desperately to be away from the world most surely to shun him. His own case had been rather straightforward given that he was a minor and granted a wide berth of leniency; particularly after giving little resistance to testifying against his own parents. And then since, his guilty conscience was eating him as quickly as he was eating out every pastry shop that he passed. And there was the fact too that he simply did not know how to cook, so ate out each day for every meal. There was a freedom to it, in eating without restraint and easily relinquishing himself to gluttony. Thinness wasn’t something that’d been too vocally impressed on him as a child but it was always strictly expected of him. It confounded him as to why it hadn’t even crossed his mind that this was where he was heading off to, a little, growing mound of lard making it difficult to close his bloody trousers.  
  
He stepped off the scale and watched the dial bounce back rapidly. He didn’t feel any heavier was perhaps the peculiar thing. If I hadn’t of been for his trousers getting tighter, he wouldn’t have noticed at all. But now, with the pinched feeling of his trousers confirmed by the scale as yes, very much indeed being due to an extra ten kilos, he was forced to take a closer look at the rest of his body.  
  
For his entire life he’d been thin, and at times, painfully so. He’d gotten a bit more muscular when he’d been on the Quidditch team, but once he’d quit he quickly lost the muscle and the lines of his ribs were evident, a sharp jut at each of his hipbones and delicate looking collar bones. But turning to the mirror, he blushed as he could see where the fat was starting to swell out just below his navel, a softness he’d never seen on his body before. It wasn’t enough that it’d interrupt the flow of much of his wardrobe but as he balked at his untoned middle and how quickly it’d come on, the fearful thought of very soon finding himself bursting out of every stitch of his clothing made his chest clench.  
  
He held his hand over the curve, and tried to take a deep breath, but paused as he was filled with the horrifying feeling of his stomach rounding out underneath his palm, looking even larger.  
  
“I can fix this,” he resolved. There wasn’t a lot to which he had control over in his life anymore, but at getting fat was something he could probably manage to avoid.  
  
As he pulled away his hand to let himself free of the vague terror of going pear-shaped he was grateful for perhaps the first time that really, he saw _no one_. No one would ever have to know that the Malfoy heir was slowly gorging himself and fattening up like a prized hog as he quietly disappeared into the expected penance of being a social pariah for life.  
  


* * *

  
  
After some muddling around on how to go about losing the weight that wasn’t just starving himself until he’d lost it, he did decide to go to a gym. After so much venom towards the Muggle world, coming into these horrid fluorescent lit rooms with their blaring, sharp sounding televisions and blasting music had actually become a place of calm for him. Getting lost in the oceans of electronic noise descended over him like obscuring cloak where he didn’t have to think or bother with anyone. No one knew him in these places; no chance of pointed stares or half-whispered insults getting to him and having to put the energy into a front telling the world that he _didn’t care_. Because he did care. Very much. But there wasn’t a person left in his world who’d ever understand that.  
  
Except, of course there would be and even in the static havens of muggle gyms, there could be just about anyone with the same idea as him about hiding away. He just wasn’t expecting it to be Blaise Zabini.  
  
Blaise Zabini who looked just as sculpted and godlike as ever; if anything, even more so as he’d aged into a painfully handsome man with a sharp trim waist and carefully maintained muscles that didn’t overpower the natural beauty and elegance of his body. Blaise hadn’t even seen him yet but Draco was pinned into spot, a hand instinctively passing over where his little belly had started to blossom. It’d already been a few months and the weight shook off easy enough but even as he scrutinized himself in the mirror to get dressed each day, he was always half-convinced that the evidence of his guilty indulgence in comfort eating was still there.  
  
“Draco,” Blaise said, eyebrows shooting up in recognition.  
  
Draco didn’t mean to scowl. He really, really didn’t. It was just his face though and he saw Blaise immediately frown. Draco took in a breath and let his shoulders drop when he felt assured that his belly wasn’t the flabby mess it’d been a few months prior; Blaise wouldn’t have any way of knowing that it’d happened at all.  
  
“It’s good to see you,” Draco said, trying to smooth out the tension in his words. Blaise hadn’t even been at the Battle of Hogwarts and was of anyone he’d ever known, the most non-Partisan. He and his mother knew the most important rule of things; survive. Unlike his own parents, keeping a distance had been the best route at that.  
  
Blaise’s mouth quirked into the smallest of smiles. They’d never been on bad terms and as he held out his large hand to clasp Draco’s, apparently that hadn’t changed.  
  
“Strange place to see you,” Blaise said mildly.  
  
“I—it’s good for clearing my mind,” Draco said. A nasty voice goading him in the back of his head; _you were getting fat, without even noticing_.  
  
“You live here now?” Blaise asked.  
  
Draco nodded.  
  
“Not for long. After the Wizengamot sentenced my parents I needed a change of scenery.”  
  
He tried to say it lightly but it had tension laced through it. Luckily, Blaise didn’t ask after it, just nodded. That’s what he’d always liked about Blaise; his tact. That and him being brutally handsome, but Draco’d never had a chance there without his father finding out.  
  
_Oh,_ Draco realized, another knot coming undone.  
  
“You should come out with my friends and I some time. We’ll show you the city.”  
  
“Ah…yes. That would be very kind of you.”  
  


* * *

  
  
After their chance meeting in the gym, things took a considerable turn for the better. He went out, for one thing. Whatever it had been that had compelled Blaise to invite him out in the first place, be it out of sympathy or genuine friendliness, quickly became an easy friendship. His friends were fun and liked to dance and their catty humour was easy to fall into. Maybe a little too easy and maybe he hadn’t realized just how often he offered more judgment than authenticate expressions of himself and his feelings. Blaise’s friends were less neutral than he was and yes, perhaps their sense of humour was more mean than clever but it was _easy_ and a language he understood fluidly even in French. But it was also quick and required attention and left little room for him to think of much else. Like how consumingly alone he’d be if he couldn’t keep up with them.  
  
They were picnicking in a park, and on a role while commenting on passer-bys. As though it had never happened, Draco was once again enjoying looking at the fashion in the city, and now again without the nagging wondering of if he’d even fit into half of what he saw. However, the memory his own brief trouble with his weight came back when he saw a woman who’d clearly gained a little too much weight to fit comfortably into her designer dress. He sneered, could feel his face making expressions that didn’t quite mean what he was feeling; of the woman, he felt very little. But a coil of disgust made its way up his throat, wondering if he’d ever looked like he’d overfilled his clothes during that brief burst of weight. Being fat was no reason to be poorly dressed.

  
“The lines of those seams are absolutely wasted on her figure,” he said, looking at the way the stiff material bunched into a zigzag just above her hips. “A few more pounds and she’ll be lucky if her arse isn’t falling out the back end.”  
  
There was tittering of laughter, and he’d have thought nothing of it if Blaise hadn’t chosen then to look up from his book.  
  
“You know,” he said, thin fingers splayed out and holding his page open. “being a skinny bitch isn’t much of a substitute for a personality.”  
  
Draco was too stunned to speak. Portia, a willowy, dark-haired woman that he’d been getting on with especially well glared over at Blaise.  
  
“You’re one to talk,” she threw over. Beside her however was another young woman of whom Draco had become very fond of and he felt the blood drain out of his face. Where Portia was as strikingly angular as himself, Adrienne was soft curves and had a sizable belly that was currently poking out from the short hem of her shirt. It’d never crossed his mind that Adrienne was actually quite plump; she was confident and fashionable, and he’d simply never had occasion to think of it, even when they’d gone shopping together. But looking at her generously curved body, he realized...she was the fat friend, the odd one out and of course what he'd said even if it wasn't to her would sting. His could feel his mouth gaping open and close slowly like a fish and clamped it shut, feeling quite stupid. Ignoring Portia and Blaise he tried to screw up the courage to apologize to her. Adrienne was glaring at him, ready to hurl back anything he said in his apology of defence.  
  
“Perhaps I should go,” Draco said, voice strained. He tried to clear it, but it came out in a pained choking noise. All he had to do was apologize, but the longer he took the more difficult it became, as though time had already hurdled into the next week. He felt sick to his stomach. He liked Adrienne; a lot. Perhaps even the best of the lot. Glancing around at the faces of Blaise’s friends, he saw similar looks of embarrassment. Seeing the passivity that’d fallen around him, he clenched his jaw and locked his gaze with Adrienne's.  
  
“Adrienne, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice sounding rawer than he expected. “That was uncalled for.”  
  
Before anyone could stop him, he gathered his things and started to make his way home. He’d had just the slightest taste of a social life that didn’t operate on the edge of life or death and completely forgotten just how valuable it was to preserve that. Walking away, he tried not to panic at the prospect of never getting a chance at it again.  
  


* * *

  
  
He stopped going to the gym because he couldn't bear to see Blaise and didn't have the energy to find a new one. He didn’t answer the invitations that were sent to him even when, surprisingly, one came from Adrienne. Blaise’s comment had been brief but incisive and made him face an unhappy question about himself; _did_ he have a personality of his own? Playing the gay, catty bitch _had_ been easy and made even easier by their general choices of activities; if it wasn’t expensive parties they were slumming it in seedy bars at drag shows where a sharp tongue was par for the course. Suddenly Portia’s frequent and glowing commendations on his wit didn’t fill him with the same warmth anymore.  
  
And so, he disappeared again and it was almost shocking how predictable his pattern became; too many bloody pastries as he indulged what was apparently an incredibly vicious sweet tooth and rich. Carb-loaded take-outs because yes, he _still_ didn’t know how to cook but now he had a lot of time on his hands once again and no friends to see and a guilty conscience that demanded wallowing in self-indulgence. The weight came back on quicker than before, he was sure of it. Or, the difference was that this time he knew exactly what ever instance of losing control was leading to; maybe he even encouraged that part of himself, permitting himself to give in to the mercy of the full, sleepy feeling that made it so difficult to think of much else beyond the throbbing, hot swell of a stomach packed to capacity.  
  
Yes, this time was definitely worse, he thought as he smoothed a hand over the rounded bulge of his middle. This time it was _intentional_. At least partially so. It was easier to be alone like this, easier to not care. He was already fatter than he’d been in the first place; this morning on his empty stomach he’d weighed just under 80 kilos. Almost fifteen kilos more than his “regular” weight.  
  
Stuffed like this, he had the drawstring of his soft, linen pajama open and the hem pulled down underneath the impossibly bent out curve of his belly. He knew it only emphasized how full he was but some part of him felt like he deserved it; the tightness was excruciating. He could feel his stomach straining to the absolute maximum. The weight was starting to pad not just his growing _gut_ , but begin to thicken his thighs and plump his ass up probably larger than the poor women he’d so scathingly commented on in the first place. This was his punishment, he thought, fingers lightly grazing down the front of the massive bulge as though hardly believing that it could be real. This is what he’d earned with his vapid, unkind way of being. He’d been too shallow and desperate to fit in than to develop some kind of sense of his own personhood. He didn’t think that getting fat would suddenly manifest a personality within him, but the surrender to careless decadence was at least enough to distract him from thinking of how he'd gotten here, pudgy and softening more each day. He didn't have to think so much about how he’d managed to so quickly drive off the only chance he might have to make friends.  
  
Despite being so painfully full, he tried to lean himself upwards to get to the dessert portion of the meal he’d ordered. It took more than one try, but he was able to rock himself up and gingerly forwards to reach across the table for the dessert container. He’d ordered extra dessert; the entrée portion of this meal was only an excuse to order two of the most rich, melt-in-your-mouth brownies he’d found in the city. He laid back, resting the little cardboard container on the crest of his burgeoning gut and slowly extracted one of the brownies. He was already salivating before it even got to his mouth, smelling rich and even buttery. As he placed it into his mouth, the way it melted was exquisite, the taste of raspberry and chocolate exploding in his mouth. At least, he supposed, his belly was the results of a well-groomed and epicurean tastes; very little wasteful flavour passed his lips. As the buttery taste of the treat melted in his mouth he imagined it melting into fat in his body and tried to imagine where the next pounds would find themselves on his formerly sleek frame. Would it be his belly? Most of it seemed to go there, but he knew that his thighs were thickening up, the seams of all his trousers leaving a streak of indentations at the end of every day when he pulled them off. Even these loose pajamas that he was wearing was starting to strain across the seat, stitches creaking in protest each time that he bent over or sat down. Yes, his arse was likely at least as big as that woman’s had been by now and if it wasn’t, he was well on his way.  
  
When he got to the second brownie, he was rubbing his stomach and trying to knead out the pressure in the tighter spots. He had to pause, feeling a small belch bubble up and pass his lips before he could manage to get the next bite in. The sound sent a tingling feeling up his spine, the indiscreet thrill of overindulgence making his skin go hot and his dick hard.  
  
That, he supposed, was the other incentive of eating like this. The more he did it, the easier it was to accept that the forbidden nature of how it aroused him. Maybe it didn’t have to be overeating, but the feeling of truly, painfully, sated got him rock hard in a way that he’d never felt before. He didn’t even have to think of someone else; there was no one else in his fantasy of softening flesh, no one he needed to touch him or who he wanted to touch. He was satisfied groping at his own developing curves, hands greedily searching for more as he tried to force more down to speed up the process. He’d thought of trying to find a potion to get him there more quickly, but that felt like cheating; he wanted all of this self-imposed, gluttonous punishment to be his own.  
  
Thinking of this he struggled to finish eating the second brownie before he ejaculated, the push and pull of desire warring with what little control he had left. When he came, it was with a pained cry that filled his empty home, with no one to hear it save for himself. And it was, for the briefest of moments, the only utterance of joy that he could eke out of himself. Maybe he still didn’t have much of a personality, but he didn’t have anyone to tell him if it was better to be a fat bitch instead of skinny one and he rather liked the idea of being unrecognizable enough that he could simply wipe the slate clean and see who he was for himself.  
  


* * *

  
  
“I don’t think…that Blaise meant you should go get fat,” Adrienne said bluntly. “And don’t think that it’s some kind of apology to me. If it was, you really didn’t have to go this far.”  
  
“I didn’t do it as an apology,” Draco hissed, squirming in his seat. Adrienne had finally convinced him to come out. He thought about continuing to refuse but from the group that he’d cut himself off of so abruptly, she was the last one who kept pushing to make contact with him. So, finally in a moment of weakness nursed on the debilitating loneliness he'd carefully curated his life into, he scribbled a message back to her and practically hurled the owl out the window with it.  
  
“Then why?” Adrienne asked simply before sipping at her milk shake. In the intervening months she hadn’t changed and certainly not the way that he had. He was now _90 kilos,_ a full twenty four kilos above his increasingly unattainable “regular” weight.  
  
There’s a part of him that wanted to answer her question with a blunt, “because it gets me off” but he needed to try and win her friendship or possibly face a listless, fat oblivion alone. Besides, while it did get him off in the moment of it, most of the time it filled him with guilt and terror and maybe, _maybe_ a part of the reason for getting in touch with Adrienne was that he couldn’t help but be drawn to her confidence and comfort with her own body. He needed to learn that. Desperately, if he hoped to survive the deeper lows of gaining this much weight and quickly becoming less and less able to recognize himself.  
  
He looked properly fat now, that was undeniable. First he’d started replacing some of his clothes and having others let out, trying not to blush as he felt the cold measuring tape at the tailors press in against his soft flesh the first time. Worse was the second time he'd gone back and had to fight his hardest not to get hard as the tailor asked him if he should leave some room to fill out (he primly, and with as much levity as he could muster, agreed that it was a prudent suggestion).  
  
Objectively, whenever he looked at himself he knew that he was just as fashionable in clothes that were tailored just as well as they’d ever been except now…now he had a gut. A thick paunch that always stuck out no matter what he wore and a thick, answering curve of an arse behind him. He _wobbled_ when he walked. His chest was going soft and a little mound of fat had begun to make his nipples peak out. His thighs touched and chafed and each time he sat he swore his arse took up more space, spilled over more of the edges of his seats. And honestly, if it was anyone else, he’d likely think little of it. But it was him and he was out of control, shamefully tubby and only getting rounder with each passing day. As often as he could he, bloated himself into blissful oblivion, embracing the heavy comfort of being pinned back by his own increasing mass.  
  
He swallowed. So why had he gained so much weight?  
  
“I’ve been depressed,” he said and it felt out flat in front of him, bare and honest. “Ever since the war, I just haven’t seen the point of anything. I haven’t got _anything_ ; nothing ahead of me and only ruination behind me. So I guess…I just eat to feel something.”  
  
Adrienne blinked placidly at him, her silence unnerving him as it stretched. She looked down at the table, inspecting her carefully painted nails. A little bulge of a second chin poked out when she did so and Draco couldn’t help but immediately reach up to his own chin, wondering if he had one too when he looked down now.  
  
“Ruination,” she finally said, repeating the word softly with a little laugh. “Is that what you think of being fat as well?”  
  
“I—” Draco choked on his reply.  
  
Adrienne shook her head and waved a hand dismissively.  
  
“Look, I don’t care if you’re thin or fat, I just wanted to see if you were okay. You’re fun, Draco, and I figured there had to be a little more to you than mean jokes. Now that you’ve finally told me the truth about something…want to go shopping?”  
  
Draco blanched.  
  
“What? Just like that?”  
  
“You seem like you need a friend. And I know you like shopping as much as I do. This,” she said gesturing at the dark suit that he’d had made to look a little more slimming (as thought that were possible anymore), “is a little boring.”  
  


* * *

  
  
His weight did plateau after another ten kilos as Adrienne came back into his life. He didn’t met up with any of the others from Blaise’s group of friends, save for Blaise himself and with the two of them, his life eased into something he actually enjoyed living.  
  
There was something soothing about the extra mass of his body, now that he had a chance to catch up to it instead of endlessly stuffing it before he could even understand and accommodate for the changes. With Adrienne and Blaise it was easy to let himself still eat heartily and to indulge without feeling like it would “cost” him. The more time he spent with the weight, the easier it was to settle into. Blaise, the last person on the planet that he’d have thought who’d have so little to comment on the topic of weight gain was a godsend. Draco’s hopes of romance were dashed when Blaise brought his boyfriend from the countryside into the city for the holidays but in some ways, it was almost easier to be around him once it was clear they wouldn’t be anything more than friends.  
  
The thing was, having friends was enough to keep him feeling well and grateful even as it still remained uncertain of what he should _do_ with his life. Life in Paris was easier than in England if only because even if people knew him they had more distance and less context. And now as his whole body had ballooned out, there wasn’t anyone from his old life who would even recognize him. With the weight had come an unintentional but much appreciated disguise.  
  
More than thirty kilos over the course of just over a year; it was a massive amount of weight to gain. And he _felt_ it. He was glad that the gain had plateaued so that he could properly appreciate this new, engorged state of his body. He was undoubtably pear-shaped, a wise arse and thick thighs that touched nearly down to the knee. He didn’t have too many stretch marks, Adrienne having intervened one day when she saw him scratch himself bloody from the itching. She gave him a whole slew of options for caring for his skin. He sunk his hands in, two generous handfuls and was grateful for the smooth, milky feeling it gave him.  
  
He couldn’t quite pin the moment where he’d started to feel more at ease with himself. Of course he still had moments of embarrassment like when he realized just how precariously he was perched on a stool, or how sometimes if he ate enough he started to reflexively spread his legs out to make more room for his belly to sag more comfortably in between. For Paris especially, he was quite _large_. Hips that swayed a little more than he remembered to account for at times, and shirts that he didn’t always realize were quite so stretched out after a night of carousing with Blaise and Adrienne. But it was easier with the two of them. For a brief period, even Blaise had put on some weight as a part of a bulking regime, and Draco was struck by just how… _cute_ , he’d found the little extra belly his friend had sported.  
  
Perhaps _that_ was the moment; realizing that he could find a chubby, fat body more than just nothing to be ashamed of, but as actually _madly_ attractive. Taking that and looking at his own body he could shift his thinking from “it’s not that bad” to “this outfit kind of makes me look hot?”.  
  
Which, was maybe when going out for the night in matching crop tops that Adrienne had made as a joke it hadn’t even crossed his mind to protest. He pawed at his soft stomach as it bulged out over his trousers; they were new and quite expensive and on their own looked good as hell while being quite forgiving on flexibility. He just hadn’t expected to wear it with such a short shirt.  
  
The flesh of his generous potbelly was soft and malleable in his hands. Lifting the heft of it in his hands, he let it drop down, biting his lip tightly as he watched it wobble before settling back into the wide, heavy look it had eased into. He hadn’t gained any weight in ages, but he hadn’t lost any either. Despite how much time he spent out with Blaise and Adrienne either walking or dancing it never seemed to shift. He turned to his side and smoothed both hands over the sagging swell of it. Most of the weight had sunk to the lower part of his belly, making a large, soft zone that he often found himself kneading at as a gesture of comfort.  
  
He quirked his head a little to one side as he inspected the soft swell. Maybe he had put on a bit more weight. He’d actually gotten thick enough that it was kind of hard to tell, though he was sure that it fluctuated. But he swore that it looked like the top part had filled out a bit more. The change was enough to get him excited and he nervously glanced at the clock. He had plenty of time though and taking a deep breath he smoothed his hand down over a thick hip and circled it up back around his ass. Living alone meant he could do all manner of explorations of his body, so he thought nothing save for how delicious the resounding smack of his hand against his thick behind was. He dragged his hand back up from there, taking hold of the overflowing flesh of his love-handles and gave a careful, but forceful pull.  
  
Everyone once in a while he marvelled in just how fat he’d gotten. He’d simply been so thin before. But even more than that, he was bewildered by how ashamed of the extra weight he’d been. He looked _good_ , he realized now. Adrienne’s confidence had been a foundational piece of realizing that, but Blaise compliments never ceased either when it came to new outfits or if he looked especially good one day or the other and it never came with any criticism of how something might look if he were only a little thinner.  
  
Curious as to if he had managed to pack on a little more weight, he pulled out the scale and realized that he hadn’t actually done that in quite a long time. His chief concerns when it came to his size was making sure he had accurate measurements to give to the tailor so that he wouldn’t be disappointed when a new outfit was finished.  
  
He paused before stepping on, suddenly a little afraid; the last time he’d gained weight without noticing was because he’d been a spiralling depression. That was ridiculous this time though, he thought giving his head a little shake. If he’d put on any weight it was likely because he was spending more time studying for his new job inspecting old tomes and snacking while doing so. He never did it while actually having the book in front of him of course, but frequently found himself a step back from the pristine tables in the Research Library with a snack in hand as he pondered whether or not a book was about to go homicidal on him. His mentor seemed delighted with his progress, assuring him that he had a knack for the job seeing that he hadn’t been on the receiving end of a literary attack even once yet.

Assured that any new weight wasn’t the result of an all consuming depression, he stepped on with confidence. He blushed a little as he realized that he had to shift around the swell of his belly a little to get a proper look at the dial; so, when it landed he already knew to expect a higher number than he’d seen the last time.  
  
It was only about four and a half kilos bringing him up to 104.5, and he chuckled to himself thinking of a time where “only about four and half kilos” would have been an utterly mortifying reality to face. Not dwelling on it too much, he stepped off the scale and went to look in the mirror.  
  
He did feel like a new person, looking at his body like this. Not because of “ruination” but simply because he looked…solid. The extra weight, while cumbersome at times or clumsy in others, forced him to stay grounded. His belly and hips were the most impressive, but the new kilos was starting to round out the top of his belly, almost like how it looked when he was stuffed. He didn’t intentionally stuff himself so much anymore, but he tapped his fingers thoughtfully over the rest of his belly; what would that feel like without the feeling of shame? Instead of the aching thrill of taboo, a luxuriant embrace of how his fat, flabby body was actually something he found extremely enticing?  
  
With both hands he reached up and cupped his budding tits; well, that was actually a overly gracious assessment. They were nothing like tits, but he imagined what it would be like if they were, how much weight he’d have to gain to see them round out into pert little breasts given that most of his weight pooled down around his belly and hips. Experimentally, he rounded his thumbs over his nipples, watching as the skin puckered and went hard.  
  
_Fuck_ ; did he even have time for this self-indulgence? Craning around to look at the clock he quickly calculated whether or not he did and then decided that he could be a little late. As he looked back in the mirror he caught a flash of a double chin and felt a fluttering in his belly. That looked closer than the dizzying and decadent thought of plump breasts. A part of him wanted to cancel for the night and do a extravagant take-out order and stuff his belly up until it was stiff, rounded and hard rather than opulently soft and sinking. He could feel himself already starting to sweat just thinking about it and reached down to stroke his hardening cock. His belly bulged out to one side as he reached down and that made his heart beat faster still. He didn’t think he’d ever want to deal with the problems of being so large that he couldn’t reach and get himself off, but the fantasy of the idea did fill him with a thrilling sense of sumptuous surrender.  
  
As quickly as he could manage without tripping over himself he laid himself out on his back in the centre of his bed, relishing the way he sunk into the mattress. After propping himself up comfortably he didn’t reach for his hardening cock first but placed both hands on the mass of his belly and gave it a hefty shake. His skin felt as though it were electrified with the pleasure of the feeling and he did it again, a soft moan escaping past his lips as he did so. Concerned of dirtying his trousers, he quickly lifted his hips and shimmied out of them, biting back a cry as he felt his gut sway above him with the motion. The wild thought of _more_ crossed his mind; did he have a limit? It was hard to think of one in this moment, imagining instead his hips bulging out further and his belly taking a more permanently rounded look whether or not it was stuffed. Looking down at his hands he felt the little pouch of softness bulge out underneath his chin and nearly gasped as he sunk his pudgy hands into the soft flesh. Oh hell, when had his _hands_ gotten pudgy? He raised one up to this face and let out a low breath of wonder as he took it into account. It might have only been a handful of extra kilos but it _was_ enough to notice and fuck, it looked good. He’d grown so keen on his own body that he’d gone and started to relax into even more.  
  
Remembering the time, he made short work of himself and was glad for taking off his trousers as the hot seed of his own cock flushed up onto his wide gut. He laid back after the white hot, blinding rush of his orgasm crashed through him and felt his fat, wobbling body quiver as he caught his breath. He actually had quite a good stamina, considering, but any exertion was just so much more evident on his body. If he’d had more time, he’d have happily drawn out the moment longer, let himself edge into it until coming would be practically earth-shattering.  
  
Lazily, he brought his hands up and traced them lightly over his lush and sensitive skin, enjoying the lingering euphoria as it slowly drifted away. He cupped his chest again and imagined a time where maybe it’d be too much flesh to comfortably cover with one hand. Looking down at the wobbling crest of his belly, he wondered of a time where maybe the small movement would make him even more aware of his thickening chin and if there might come a time where he wouldn’t be able to see over the swollen line of his hefty paunch. Yes, he decided, he was fat. But he could be a lot fatter with a little attention.  
  
He gave one last little tracing of his finger in between the growing roll at his side that lead around his back. Gaining weight due to hating his life had been a stressful cycle of shame. Keeping the weight because his friends didn't give a fuck if he were thick or thin was a much needed permission for empathy. Gaining weight because he’d been enjoying a few extra snacks at work was a pleasant surprise. But what, would intentionally stacking on another ten kilos feel like? Or twenty? With a hard, stinging smack, he let his belly wobble with the promise of more.  
  
He smirked and breathed in slow, basking in the filling sensation it gave him and imagining instead of air a heavy, indulgent meal in it’s place.  
  
He loved his fat body and it felt like a biblical revelation.

* * *

  
  
He gains the next ten kilos. And then the next. Switching that number over to the American system, it meant he was closing up onto the dreaded 300 hundred pounds that he often heard bemoaned by American tourists glutting out on the pastries, cheeses and wines of Paris.  
  
His body, as it swelled with fat, of course did actually start to feel cumbersome and heavy. Stacking on another twenty kilos felt like it had put him off-balance and as much as he did like how it’d more permanently rounded out his middle, it was taking getting some used to. Usually he loved the weight, but after smacking it in frustration one day, Blaise had suggested that he start lifting weights to help with feeling like he had some modicum of control over his body again beyond constantly permitting it to stick further and further out in front of him.  
  
It was a good suggestion and gave him time to acclimate. Some of the fat shifted over to muscle, but he was actually quite too large for it to show much beyond his shoulders broadening a little wider.  
  
He didn’t know how much Blaise could guess at as to why he seemed positively unconcerned with losing any of the weight anymore. If he could guess that Draco had come to find the weight more than just acceptable but sexually arousing he never let on to it. Which, was good, considering he didn’t want their friendship to suffer for being a bloated pervert with an arse that threatened to demand a second chair at any moment.  
  
But he thought maybe Blaise had some idea when he took him, pointedly him and not Adrienne, to a leather bar. At some point, Draco had gotten quite used to often being the largest person in the room, but here, no, he would venture as far to say that his well-fed, well-rounded belly was actually quite modest. Granted, this was in part to how much of his weight naturally spilled out down into his lower half, but still. To be confronted with large, hard, furred bellies of men even beyond his wildest aspirations for himself left him dumbstruck. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and stroke these magnificent testimonies to indulgence and worship them as he worshipped his own doughy form.  
  
Honestly, he felt fortunate not to be afflicted with an embarrassing nose bleed as they walked through the door. Blaise excused himself to get them drinks and left Draco to collect himself. The theme of course was large; large bellies, large muscles and generous combinations of both. Not everyone was fat, but there was as much shameless adoration of a heavy body as there was of the leaner ones.  
  
He tried not to stare, but it was hard, especially when so many of the men had cleverly designed harnesses to emphasis each of their assets. He was especially fixated on the man across the room with his chest bound in such a way to flatter his thick pectorals. There was too much muscle for them to really resemble the kind of soft breast like quality his own had developed, but for that reason it practically had him salivating. Maybe he could spend a little more time bulking up his upper half.

By the time Blaise returned, he had managed to recollect himself somewhat; enough to be annoyed that his friend hadn’t told him what would be the appropriate attire for the occasion.  
  
Blaise didn’t apologize.  
  
“I thought you might like it here,” he said simply, eyeing a man of his own with bulging, thick arms and an especially potbellied look to him. No arse though, but each to their own. Blaise and his boyfriend had agreed to take a break and explore and finally, with not small measure of relief, Draco didn’t imagine a part of that vacation being with him. Not when his friend was in fact, so ludicrously tactful to take him to a leather bar instead of accusing him of being a disgusting, bloated freak. Oh, if his parents could see him now in this den of inequity, entirely obliterating the chances of producing an heir to their lands and fortune. Even if he himself did currently look pregnant with twins, at least.  
  
Blaise patted the side of his belly affectionately, getting his attention to nod towards a man making eyes at him. It was the man he’s so openly gawked at before for the flattering choice of his harness.  
  
“Do you need a quick run down on gay sex?” Blaise asked.  
  
Draco swatted at him and felt the fat underneath his arm wobble.  
  
“You know I’ve had sex,” he muttered, admiring how the man’s body moved as it approached. He hadn't had a lot of sex, he’d admit, but even at _his size_ , there were usually one or two men interested enough to bed him. But he realized, with a skip in his heart, that he’d never slept with another man quite so large as himself. As he got closer, Draco could see that this man hadn’t just propped up his heft chest with the leather straps but he’d also pierced each nipple. Draco felt his mouth go dry, imagining the cold steel on his tongue as he lapped at the thickness of the man’s chest.  
  
“You’re a bit under...or rather, over-dressed,” the man said, voice low and gravelly in a way that was making the synapses in Draco’s head fire a little too quickly. “Wish I could get a better idea of what you’re looking like underneath all that.”  
  
Draco jerked his head towards Blaise to confirm the outrageous forwardness of what he’d just heard, but his friend had already wandered off. He knew that his cheeks must have tinged pink, but he turned back to the man and in a wild display of egotism that he hadn’t indulged in for some time, he spread open his thighs, letting his belly sink down in-between them, jutting it outwards pointedly.  
  
“I’m sure you can piece together the general idea,” Draco purred. “But maybe you’d be more satisfied inspecting for yourself?”

* * *

  
  
He’s not sure how he gets pulled into it, but he’s going to London for a special, allegedly renowned leather party. Now outfitted with his own kit and settled in to a few extra kilos that edge him ever closer to the renowned three hundred club, he’s actually for the first time in a long time, quite nervous about his weight. In Paris with Blaise and Adrienne, it was an accepted thing and anyone beyond them hadn’t really ever met him when he’d been thin.  
  
It crossed his mind in planning the trip that maybe he should go to see his parents, but he decided against it. Not because he’d gotten so bloody fat, but because he doubted that they’d forgiven him for the damning testimony he’d given to the Wizengamot. Strangely, he was at peace with it. Despite now weighing more than sixty kilos more than when he’d last seen them, he felt like he could take any shock or criticism they might throw at him. There might come a time when he forced himself to extend that hand back out to them, but he doubted that it would be any time soon.  
  
What he was a bit put out by was that he’d had a goal to get to that ever-lauded American 300 before the party. He was twenty pounds off; work hadn’t become stressful, per say, but he’d been busy. Mostly too busy to deal with the aftercare of the stuffings it took for him to feel truly stretched to the brink now. Blaise asked him why he bothered to work so hard seeing as he’d be hard-pressed to spend the family fortune in his lifetime even after it was so heavily impacted by the Death Eaters using it as their own discretionary fund. But he liked his work and even more so when a few volumes he recognized as being from his own family library; books that needed no investigation to know the havoc they could wreak upon its readers. It was a small thing, being able to help catalogue and safely store these monstrous little things, but as his mentor had told him, he had a certain knack for it.

As a consolation prize for his failure to hit three hundred pounds, he’d gotten his nipples pierced just as he’d so admired on that man the first night he’d gone to that bar. Now, he regretted it a bit; they were still a bit tender. However, seeing them poke through his very wonderfully tailored shirt made him feel a bit risqué and rebellious.  
  
He was at a size now that he didn’t worry about being recognized. His chin was always doubled now, even without looking down. He was so perfectly rotund that there was no way to imagine him as having ever been thin. Underneath his very sensible trousers he knew that his thighs dimpled and that even with Adrienne’s various salves and lotions that he’d gotten so big that he’d miss the striping stretchmarks sometimes simply for being unable to work his body around in such a way to really notice them. When he lifted the folding over crease of his belly, he knew that there were a few underneath that he’d been negligent of.  
  
He didn’t mind them as much as he thought he would; like with getting fat itself, he acclimated to it. Plenty of men in the scene had the tell tale marks of gaining weight so quickly that their skin couldn’t keep up with it and they were quite beautiful the more time he gave himself to admire them.  
  
Not a soul recognized him as he made his way through Knockturn Alley to Borgin and Burkes. The research library had asked him, seeing as he’d be in London anyways, to pick up some tomes they had on hold if he had the time. Borgin and Burkes themselves no longer managed the place, the new owner keeping the name for the reputation it held rather than risking changing it. So, there was no one to recognize him. He cast the appropriate spell to break the seal proving that yes indeed it was he who should be collecting the tomes and there was nothing further said.  
  
As his belly bounced out in front of him, he realized that he was nearly double his weight from when he’d last been here. It hadn’t been that long, not really; nearly two and a half years since he’d been to London. As no one recognized him it made him feel more and more like a stranger to this place. And it didn't bother him. There was little here for him and he wondered if perhaps he should simply sell the London property. It didn’t seem worth keeping if he was only here every few years. A hotel would do just fine; a hotel with good room service.  
  
He saw people that _he_ recognized; not one of them gave him a second look. He saw the painfully pinched looking Weasley boy that’d worked for the Ministry during the war, saw Hermione Granger dashing to a Floo with a tremendous stack of books of her own in what was striking caricature of his memory of her, and nearly knocked over a young woman he knew for certain had been a few years under him at school. He apologized and braced the side of his belly that she’d run into and she spent enough time apologizing profusely herself that she should have had enough time to get an inkling of who he was if she was going to get an idea of it at all.  
  
It was liberating. He didn’t know how else to think of it; to have eaten himself out of so many sets of clothes as to become entirely unrecognizable from his former self was thrilling. He hadn’t dared to imagine returning to London nearly the whole of the time he’d been living in Paris but while he felt little impulse to do so, it was good to know that he had no reason to be fearful of it.  
  
He slept well that night, soothed into the reassurance that his increasingly zaftig form was capable, strangely, of allowing him to pass through this world unnoticed. He brought himself off after a long struggle of manoeuvring his bloated belly to properly stroke himself and slept well into the next day before going for his breakfast to the pastry shop down the road. It was the only one worth eating from in the city in his opinion and its quality hadn’t eroded in his absence. From there, he spent much of his day eating, working on rounding out his belly to the perfect swell of fullness that he wanted for the party.  
  
When he arrived, he was pleased to see that he was starting to blend into being of the category of the “larger” men. His head spun a bit with how skewed his idea of “larger” had become since becoming _larger_ himself. He knew that on paper, he was categorically and undeniably obese but he still didn’t quite feel that he looked _that_ large. He wasn’t especially tall, but he was close enough to six feet that the weight, especially once he’d started adding some muscle to his upper body looked quite evened out. He’d never achieve the hard, beer gut look he enjoyed so much in other men, but he was undeniably soft. And yet, had no impulse to stop just yet. He had it in his head that he’d make the three hundred mark and then let himself naturally fall back from there. Maybe that wasn’t how it’d play out, but even as he thought that he didn’t look all that large, that he was beginning to _feel_ it. He had to stand with his legs spread out to balance his belly no matter how much muscle he put on and it made his back ache. His knees felt somehow both sharp and swollen if he stood for too long and his arms were forced out further from his sides in a way that chafed the soft skin of his underarms. While not opposed to gaining more in and of itself, he supposed that he was starting to find that the line was drawn at when the weight started to impede his daily enjoyment of life. He enjoyed gaining, but for as much time as he spent on it, he was finding other things to fill his life as well.  
  
But then, maybe he’d let himself overshoot the three hundred. Just to see, just once. He stroked the large, sagging curve of his belly thoughtfully as he waited for his drink to come up at the bar. He recognized plenty of people who'd also come from Paris, but they’d all seemed to fall into a understanding that they could see one another any time; they were here for fresh meat.  
  
Truthfully, Draco didn’t all that often leave with anyone. He liked his body; enough so that he’d become very selective as to who he allowed to touch it. There were a few who he thought pampered him in such a way that all this pageantry signalled his desire for.  
  
Before being fat had been embarrassing, but now he was actually embarrassed by how little attention he needed from others. It wasn't that he was incapable of finding a sexual desire for other men, it was only that he knew his body best. He knew what he liked; that was another boundary of his gaining. He needed to be able to service his own body as he saw fit without assistance. The snobbishness in him didn’t want to rely on educating anyone to whom it didn’t come naturally.  
  
“See anyone you like?” a familiar voice said, leaning into his side and stroking his belly appreciatively. Draco frowned, picking up the rough hand from his bare belly and pointedly moving it off of him.  
  
“Gaspard; you’re lucky I recognized your cologne,” Draco said dryly. “And no, not yet. Mostly admiring the range of unfamiliar range of accoutrements.”  
  
He said, pointedly looking at a pink leather harness with an abundance of rings for it to weave in and out of. Not his colour, but the craftsmanship was noteworthy.  
  
“Leave it to you to be more interested in the fashion rather than the buffet of men in front of you. You’ve drawn quite a lot of attention,” his friend said, gesturing out in front of them. And yes, there were people staring and for a tense moment Draco thought it might be because someone recognized him. But peering out into the crowd, even trying to imagine the faces as the fattened thick chins, necks and cheeks of his former classmates, he wasn’t able to pick anyone out.  
  
Until he saw someone that he didn’t have to imagine.  
  
“Yes, strange, no?” Gaspard said. “He looks like perhaps he didn’t mean to be here.”

“Well, he’s not dressed for it,” Draco said blandly. Gaspard laughed and gave another gentle wobble to Draco’s belly before backing off. Gaspard was something of a fan when it came to him, but generally knew when to back off.  
  
“Well, if he can’t recognize you, not a single person in London would. I know you were worried about it.”  
  
Draco hummed, smoothing a palm over where Gaspard had manhandled him.  
  
Harry Potter was not someone he expected to see in a place like this and definitely not on a night like this. Perhaps he hadn’t known what he’d been getting into, or missed what was posted on the calendar for the night. Even if Potter was gay and here more regularly, “leather circus” didn’t really seem like his flavour. And as he’d said, The Boy Who Lived was not dressed for the occasion.  
  
Draco didn’t know what it was that overtook him, but he desperately wanted to tease his former classmate. He wanted to confront him with the impossibility of just how large he’d gotten since they'd last seen one another. After waiting a few more minutes to see what Potter would do with himself, and if he was purposefully there, Draco determined that at least he wasn’t being driven to leave. And he definitely didn’t recognize Draco.  
  
Potter was thin as ever, a tall streak of long, angular limbs. Finally getting a view of his middle, Draco confirmed that it wasn’t rounded out in even the slightest of bulges that could begin to explain what he was doing here tonight. Of course, there were skinny men who came to these events, but it wasn’t the majority. And Potter was wearing formfitting white shirt with tight pants; fare you’d expect for an average night at a gay bar, but not the wardrobe one would aspire to for this event. It’d been nearly a year since Blaise took him to his first leather bar in Paris and Draco felt a fond wave of nostalgia. He made his approach.  
  
“What’s a skinny boy like you doing here?” he asked, shifting himself carefully onto the stool beside Potter. Up this close, he was a bit pretty; pale skin looking striking against the long, dark lashes that framed his striking green eyes. Potter went red up to his ears and ducked his head.  
  
“Ah, I missed the calendar. But I figured since I’m here already…” he said, finishing with a shrug. He wasn’t really looking at Draco, so of course he wouldn’t recognize him. But he didn’t recognize his voice either, despite likely hating it so much from their time at school before. Draco scoffed, giving a little hop so that he could more comfortably adjust himself on the small seat. This couldn’t be the reason for choosing this particular club for the event, he thought, annoyed as he adjusted himself. He waved down the bartender for another round for the each of them. Potter hadn’t realized what he’d done until the next drink was sat down in front him. Draco raised his.  
  
“Cheers, Potter.”  
  
Maybe it was in having to look more closely to try and figure out if there was a reason he’d know this enormous, bloated looking man in front of him made it enough so that Potter could recognize him. Draco watched with a thrill, smirking as he watched Potter’s reaction flash over his face, the blush when he’d looked while trying so hard not to look at the thick mass of belly rested on Draco’s lap.  
  
“Oh, er—ah, right; cheers, Malfoy.”  
  
Draco couldn’t help but burst out laughing. The look on Potter’s face was positively dumbfounded as though he were trying to imagine how this could have happened to his former rival. Draco reached down to his heavy gut and gave it a generous shake.  
  
“You didn’t recognize me, did you?”  
  
“Er—no, I did not. And to be fair I wasn’t expecting to see you. Ever, really,” Potter hedged carefully. He looked around his shoulder, perhaps checking for the Daily Prophet and whatever other rag would surely love the scoop on Harry Potter at a leather bar. Draco wondered if he’d even fit in the frame of whatever picture they managed to snap, never mind be recognized within it.  
  
“Ah,” Potter went on before leaning in gently so that he didn’t have to shout over the throbbing noise so loudly, “Please don’t mention that you saw me. I’m not really ready to have this splashed all over the front page.”  
  
Draco waved a hand dismissively.  
  
“I’m not ready for England to know how fat I am now anyways,” he said truthfully. He loved his body, he did. He just didn’t need it sensationalized in a way he was sure would be especially cruel.  
  
Harry laughed nervously as though he weren’t quite sure that he should laugh at how openly Draco brought up his weight. Draco moved on, genuinely curious about how this boy he’d grown up hating his entire teenage life was now seated in front of his mostly bare, bulky and carefully stuffed belly. It didn’t seem real. Surely he was in some strange dream? Not that he’d ever fantasized about that the way he sometimes had the impression that Potter had about him. Potter’s shyness indicated to him that he hadn’t ever really let himself think of it though, uncertain as he was being in this dark, loud space filled with beefy men and proud, gargantuan domes of bloated hairy guts and thick, fat asses.  
  
“Weren’t you dating the Weasley girl?” Draco asked. He regretted it almost immediately, watching Potter deflate even more.  
  
“It didn’t work out. Seems like it should have been the easier thing, figuring out how to love someone without driving them mad after every thing we’ve been through, but,” he waved out a hand dismissively. He looked back at Draco, frowning. “I er—you’re parents. I’m sorry about what happened. I honestly didn’t think they’d be so harsh on your mother.”  
  
“You’re not the one who sentenced her. Honestly, I think you tried harder than anyone to make a good case for her.”  
  
Potter gave a slight shake of his head.  
  
“Where’ve you been living? The way you talk is different,” he asked instead. Draco was almost disappointed that Potter wasn’t more curious about just how he’d gotten so fat. So fat that it was actually hard not to find himself pressing in against him, one leg going out bracing out in front of him as someone was crowding in behind him with their own impressively large belly to order a drink. They apologized, gesturing bashfully at their own thick gut and Draco assured them that there was no harm done. He tried not to focus too much on how close he was to Potter; it was one thing to talk to him, but the idea of initiating anything further seemed reckless.  
  
“Paris,” Draco said. “We own a townhouse there as well. I’ve got a job there, too.”  
  
“You work?” Harry asked. At that, Draco felt a flare of annoyance.  
  
“Of course. I might not need the money, but I do appreciate the purpose. I work and I _like_ my work.”  
  
Potter looked at a loss again. The more he faltered, the more Draco realized that for all the time he’d spent being repulsed by every detail he thought the knew about him as they were growing up, he didn’t know Potter at all. Maybe he was feeling the same thing.  
  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—of course you have a job.”  
  
Draco let himself soften again.  
  
“You’re forgiven. What about you? Head of the Auror’s Department yet?” he didn't mean to, but he knew he was sneering by the end of his question. But maybe his face was soft enough now that it wouldn't be so obvious.  
  
When he saw Potter’s shoulders cave in, Draco really, really wished he’d bothered to keep up with the Prophet because surely it would have had some clue of what Potter’s employment status was and he’d have known better than to ask.  
  
“I quit a few months ago; I couldn’t take it. It was too much after…everything. Couldn’t keep it together. People do nasty things to one another even when there isn’t a war,” he explained, mouth close to Draco’s ear to try and speak over the noise.  
  
It was the strangest thing, to feel that wave of sympathy for Potter as he spoke. Draco had gone on a ridiculous and circumvent route to figuring himself out in a way that left him nearly outrageously Rubenesque beyond recognition but here was Potter, who he’d thought had won everything sounding venomous and _jaded_ , of all things. Draco pondered what to say or do next. He didn’t have any reconciliatory words to offer. It was early in the night; he could let Potter finish his drink and bid him adieu and find someone who’d come here intentionally to spend his time with. He didn’t have to have sex tonight to be satisfied; he simply liked to look, sometimes. Encouraged to love his own body as he saw others celebrate theirs. It was a simple pleasure that he rarely felt he needed others to enjoy.  
  
But instead he leaned forward, and swore he heard the stool creak as there was a brief lull in the music.  
  
“Would you like to go somewhere quieter?”  
  
Potter did answer immediately, but Draco could practically feel the energy thrumming off of him.  
  
“Ah…just…to be clear; somewhere quieter to what?”  
  
Draco paused, giving Potter an evaluating look. Then he shrugged and felt how it moved his whole body and reminded him of how plump he’d gotten and left him a little flushed imagining his body the way he was sure Potter was seeing it; a bit of shock and probably a morbid curiosity.  
  
“You came here for a reason, didn’t you?”  
  
Potter scoffed, looking bashful and a bit disbelieving. Draco didn’t blame him; it wasn’t every day you were propositioned by your former mortal enemy. And so congenially, he might add.  
  
“Yeah, that’s true.”  
  
“Unless you’re afraid of me crushing you.”  
  
Draco did not expect to see Potter’s eyes take on a wicked glint behind his glasses. He startled, his thick gut bouncing as he felt Potter’s hand slowly, _reverently_ , pass over his bulging side and giving a playful squeeze.  
  
“You think you’d be the biggest person I’ve ever slept with?”  
  
At that, Draco thought he must have blanked out for a good minute; was Potter… _good_ at flirting? In a way and with a confidence that suggested that perhaps…he might know just what to do with him in bed?  
  
It was rare, but Draco felt the bubbling feeling of anticipation well up in him at the prospect of spending the night with someone who would potentially give his gravid form the attention and reverence that it was due. Maybe if it wouldn’t have required screaming at the top of his lungs, he would have given some flirtation back, challenged Potter to fill him up to be as big as the largest man he’d ever slept with; to encourage to gorge himself even bigger. But he couldn’t believe that this was happening and didn’t want to risk breaking the spell. Tenderly, he leaned closer, letting his wide belly press up against Potter’s flat, lean torso and fill around him.  
  
“Let’s go,” he suggested, hand tracing tentatively along Potter’s lean side. There was really no meat on him and Draco wondered if Potter would become the _thinnest_ man he’d ever slept with by the end of the night.


	2. Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It really doesn't seem like this is Potter's first time.

He didn’t expect Potter to be quite so  _ chatty  _ on their way to his hotel room. No sooner than they’d crossed the threshold of the club when he started in.   
  
“Just so you know, I  _ am _ rather more tactful than I’m about to be,” he started in, “but I get the sense that you rather like the idea of me asking.”   
  
“Whatever do you mean?” Draco asked. “And slow down.”   
  
“Have you really gotten so fat that you need me to slow down?” Potter asked, eyes widening as he  _ tactfully _ slowed his gait. The word probably should have stun but it seemed nearly inconsequential in Potter’s tone.   
  
“Yes,” Draco sniffed primly. “I have.”   
  
“That’s...impressive. Ehm, so; you’re well right? You seem...you know from the last half hour where we’ve been speaking anyways, you seem...well?”   
  
“Are you worried that I’ve eaten myself into a depressive oblivion, Potter? I assure you, that’s hardly the case.”   
  
“Then…”   
  
“I like food, Potter, and I like being this fat. It’s not terribly mysterious in the least.”   
  
“Well, you look good. You seem, I dunno, more relaxed? I don’t get such a  _ I’m-about-to-strangle-you-Potter _ mood from you now.”   
  
“Right, well. Thank-you. I don’t get such a  _ Malfoy-you-snot-I’m-going-to-shred-you-to-pieces _ mood from you now.”   
  
“Well, much to say about personal growth. More for some than others,” Potter said, gesturing at Draco pointedly. Draco mimicked a scandalized expression.   
  
“A fat joke, Potter? I didn’t think you had it in you.”   
  
“Not much left for me after you’ve had a go.”   
  
Draco laughed, genuinely pleased to find that Potter could pull up something with a little sting in his teasing. He wasn’t sure what he could jibe at with the man though; frankly, his own standards aside, Potter looked shockingly thin. Nearly as dreadful as when they’d first met. Whatever it was that he’d been going through seemed to have had the quality of sapping the life out of him. He had the look of a starved dog, which was hardly something Draco wanted to bring up. Despite his ease in humour, there was a nervousness about Potter that seemed unfair to prod at.   
  
Draco rolled back his shoulders and took a deep breath, trying to recapture some of his own vitality because bloody hell, he  _ had _ gotten fat enough that walking at a quick gait was something of a challenge. One advantage at least was having been a bit stuck at this weight for some time now, he didn’t feel as though he were caught up in trying to relearn his body at the moment and felt much less clumsy than he had at certain points. His thighs, thick and pressed tightly together, chafed but didn’t come as a surprise. His belly bowed out in front of him and wobbled as he walked and the general feeling of wideness was something he more comfortably accounted for as he moved. He didn’t waddle, not quite yet, but it didn’t feel far off, if he could just push past this little plateau he’d reached.   
  
It didn’t take long to reach the hotel. Of course, he’s purposefully booked the closest tasteful room he could manage. Not exclusively due to his increased size, but simply because while he seemed to have gone through wizarding London quite undetected, he didn’t want to push his luck. They didn’t say much as they went up, Potter quietly following behind him. They stood awkwardly for a moment at the threshold of the door, and Draco wondered if perhaps...as amusing as this idea had been in at the club that perhaps it wasn’t quite so wise after all. He passed his hand thoughtfully over the curve of his soft belly. Harry’s attention was drawn downwards.   
  
“Ehm...are you hungry? Should we order in?”   
  
Draco felt his shoulders relax.   
  
“Good idea.”   
  
They opted for room service since it would be the most expedient and Harry let him order for them both. As he ordered, he watched Harry’s eyes widen at the ever increasing quantity of food that he was having requested to his room. When he finished and set down the receiver he raised an eyebrow, daring Potter to say something. Challenge accepted, Potter smirked.   
  
“Well, that explains a lot.”   
  
Draco felt his stomach do an odd flip, and not the kind that came with indigestion or fear. Despite the pinched look about him, Potter was quite handsome if one had to think much about his looks but more than that he apparently was quite...fun. And adaptive, which Draco could appreciate.   
  
“I’m guessing you ate before this too though, and not just a snack,” Potter asked, coming closer and gently placing his hand over Draco’s belly, hooking his thumb into his navel and lifting the weighty mass upwards. Draco went still, the feeling of someone else hefting up the voluminous mass of gut quite different from when he did it for himself.   
  
“Are you-is this something that you’re... _ involved _ with Potter?” he asked suspiciously.   
  
“What do you mean?”   
  
“Do you like feeding people? Making them fat,” Draco said blandly, not wanting to be coy about his questions. To his surprise, Potter shook his head.   
  
“Not especially. I think it’s just...more common than people talk about. Just...so we’re clear, I won’t tease you any worse than I already have, even if you ask. That’s actually where it starts to sound a bit stupid coming out of my mouth.”   
  
“Oh? That’s too  _ kind _ of you,” Draco sniffed. He wasn’t disappointed, actually. It wasn’t something that he really sought out after all, but he didn’t much care for Potter’s implicating tone that he was simply  _ too nice  _ to satisfy those needs if requested.   
  
“I-” Potter faltered, frowning and looking genuinely concerned. “I mean, if that’s...if that’s really what you want I can try, but I think it’d be a bit disappointing. I have a hard time making fun of someone’s body when I...Malfoy, you really do look good. I’m not just saying that.”   
  
“Do you prefer fat men?” Draco asked, eyes narrowing as he tried to pick out what exactly it was that compelled Potter to follow him back to his hotel room. Potter sighed, exasperated.   
  
“No, I-I don’t prefer anything in particular. I just think you look good. I-I want to touch you,” he said, rolling Draco’s plush underbelly for emphasis. “You look like a spoiled prince, proud of his own...indulgence.”   
  
If Draco was blushing, he wouldn’t admit to it. He moved in closer to Potter, trying to regain some ground. He bumped him back with his belly and couldn’t resist a smirk as he saw Harry bite his lip nervously.   
  
“And do you want to spoil me? Is  _ that _ your thing?”   
  
This time Potter was the one going a bit red in the face.   
  
“ _ Yes _ , that’s my thing,” he said quietly. He moved his hand in a sweeping motion around Draco’s gut, letting his hand rest up on the thick roll at his side and squeezing again. “You’ve just made it so easy, showing me how it is that you like to be spoiled.”

  
It was about then that Draco felt his brain shutting off all his forward thinking cleverness as Potter began touching him, gently exploring the new plains of flesh, pinching and grabbing with an unfiltered reverence. Draco let out a slow breath, arching into the pleasure of touch. Whatever it was that was Potter’s  _ thing _ , he was doing it quite well. He let Potter pull him back towards the bed, crowding in soft belly on he’d taken a seat. He leaned in, urging Potter to exact tribute on the crowning achievement of his ballooned form. Potter seemed to know immediately what to do, gripping at both sides of his thick, wobbling belly and giving it an appraising shake, watching attentively at the way it cascaded in jiggles.   
  
“You’ve gotten so big,” he said warmly, before pressing forward. His nose tickled at the upper roll of his belly while his tongue laved gently atop the lower one. “I can’t believe how soft you are. It’s so good.”   
  
Potter’s breath was hot and tickled against the sensitive skin, causing him to bite back a cry. How was he so good at this? Was he even aware of it? He could hardly think as Potter pressed in, nipping gently at the bloated flesh before sucking softly. God, he wanted to melt into it, and couldn’t help but lean further in. Potter eagerly took the weight, even reaching as well as he could to urge him forward, sinking his face into the softness of him. Draco could feel his girth sinking in around him, gave a small jump as Potter dragged his hand across the uppermost roll of his sides and followed the creases back. The motion made him wobble all the way through; he could feel it in his ass and up through his chest. Underneath his saggy belly, his dick was tingling and he pushed back.   
  
“The food will be here soon,” he said. Potter looked up at him.   
  
“You sure? You ordered an awful lot.”   
  
“They’re very expedient,” Draco sniffed, stepping away carefully. Potter’s hands fell down to his lap but he was watching hungrily, making Draco very aware of how any movement at all made his body jiggle and feeling very exposed in the most thrilling way. He’d taken off his jacket, leaving much of his skin bare save for the harness that framed his budding breasts.   
  
“I don’t know why,” Potter started thoughtfully. “But the nipple piercings are the most surprising.”   
  
Draco snorted.   
  
“Not the tits?”   
  
This time Potter laughed.   
  
“Well, they make sense given the rest of you,” he countered. “What...inspired the piercings?”   
  
Reflexively, Draco reached up and touched them gently.   
  
“They’re new,” he said. “I thought they’d match the harness.”   
  
Potter leaned back onto his palms, openly examining every curve and sagging part of his body. It made Draco feel a bit shy, he had to admit, in a way that he hadn’t been feeling in some time. He supposed that he’d been spending most of his time in places where this was the ideal or among those who’d come to expect him to take up a little more space each time he saw them.   
  
“I can’t believe how hot you look,” Potter said. Coupled with the look of admiration on his face, Draco actually believed him.   
  
“Are you sure that this isn’t a preference of yours?” Draco asked suspiciously. Potter tipped his head to one side as he thought, genuinely searching for an answer. It seemed hard to imagine someone who seemed so earnestly interested to have never seriously considered if this was a preference for them.   
  
“No, I don’t think so.”   
  
“If I were thin and we’d run into one another, would you still have followed me here?”   
  
“Huh. Maybe not,” he answered honestly. “But it’s like...I dunno. It’s so...obvious? Y’know? Like, the you I knew before probably wouldn’t have been okay with this, but you honestly seem so happy that...well, something’s different for you right?”   
  
Draco felt himself blushing, for some bloody reason.   
  
“I suppose so,” he leaned back, then back forward again when he realized how much it highlighted his belly again which he was trying not to think too much of until the food got there. “If I was skinny but looked happy, what would you have done then?”   
  
“I think I’d have given it a chance. Being so big kind of forced me to look more closely straight away is all.”   
  
Draco wasn’t sure that what Potter was saying made sense, but he gave a curt nod and clenched his teeth as he felt how it made his chin double. Usually his body made him feel imposing and bold but suddenly everything was making him feel quite small and bothered somehow. A part of him wished that he hadn’t stopped Potter’s ministrations as this conversation felt so much more awkward than he anticipated it being. He cleared his throat and turned to the bar to prepare them some drinks.   
  
“What about you, Potter? I daresay you’ve looked better,” he said lightly. Behind him he heard Potter groan and fall back into the bed.   
  
“I dunno. I have a hard time sleeping. I honestly just don’t remember to eat most of the time. It’s hard to focus. I’m not, you know, physically sick or anything, I got all checked and everything but...most of the time I just feel like shite. Er-not right now, for the record.”

  
“May wonders never cease that you’d find company with an old enemy,” Draco said, handing him a glass.   
  
Potter scoffed.   
  
“I...honestly don’t think of you that way.”   
  
“Really?”   
  
“Really,” Potter insisted. “By the end of it all, you seemed to want it to be over as much as anyone.”   
  
“Well, that’s true.”   
  
An awkward silence came over them as they each reflected on  _ the end of it all _ . Draco took a sip of his drink, scrunching his nose when he realized he’d made it perhaps a little excessively boozey. Potter seemed to have much the same expression and Draco gestured for him to hand it back so that he could try to fix it.   
  
“It’s too much, I know,” he said, taking it back. Potter nodded emphatically in agreement.   
  
“I haven’t had anything that strong since Ron’s bachelor party.”   
  
“Ah, so he’s married Granger then?”   
  
“Oh yes. Baby on the way.”   
  
“No time wasted then,” Draco said, pouring in more tonic.   
  
“I’m not sure I can imagine having children,” Harry said as Draco handed him back the drink. He took a quick sip, confirming that it was actually palatable. Draco was certainly not admiring his thick, dark lashes or the striking effect of his green eyes as he looked back up at him. Potter was  _ pretty _ . He supposed that he’d noticed before but never imagined a situation where he might want to appreciate that.   
  
“Well, I certainly can’t.”   
  
“So you’re…”   
  
“Incontrovertibly homosexual,” Draco affirmed, raising his glass.   
  
“And...incontestably fat.”   
  
Draco laughed, accidentally spitting some of his drink back into his glass. He turned away to wipe at his mouth and shot a disbelieving look at Potter. He was  _ charming _ . Which was as extremely annoying as it was attractive. Draco turned to face him fully and straightened his back, this time letting it emphasize his sagging, gelatinous belly. It was what had drawn the man into his orbit in the first place. He smoothed a hand down one side of it.   
  
“And primed to be fatter still,” he said primly.   
  
“Can you really eat everything you just ordered?” Potter asked, seeming to be sincerely curious.   
  
“Well, I was hoping you’d eat some too,” Draco countered. “You’re looking rather thin, Potter.”   
  
“Is that...genuine concern?”   
  
“Worried that I’d try to fatten you up? Honestly, it’s probably what any reasonable physician would prescribe anyways.”   
  
Potter laughed.   
  
“Fair.”   
  
The conversation faltered again and Draco felt a twisting in his stomach; he hadn’t meant to make Potter uncomfortable but in truth, it  _ was  _ difficult to look at him and not have the state of him inspire some sense of worry. It’d be negligent to overlook. Thankfully, the quiet didn’t have to last terribly long as there was a knock at the door. Realizing that he wasn’t exactly in the most modest dress, he looked to Potter expectantly. He tried to keep his composure as Potter gave him a sweeping, admiring look before getting up.   
  
Draco felt his heart rate kick up as he listened to Potter insisting that he take the cart of food in himself rather than having it brought in. His tone was light and easy enough for the person on the other side of the door to yield to. He waited until he heard the door click back closed and the sound of the cart across the floor. It was too heavy to clatter, comfortably laden down by the spread of food he’d ordered for them. Well, mostly for him. He didn’t expect Potter to eat much but he did expect him to feed him the rest.   
  
And to think, he’d been worried about coming back to England. This was shaping up to be a far more pleasant evening than he could have imagined with anyone, nevermind with Harry-bleeding-Potter.   
  
“We should start at the table,” Draco said, ushering him to bring the food into the dining area. As much as he enjoyed eating, he could rarely shake the ingrained sense of decorum to eat anywhere but the appropriately designated spots until he got to the dessert course. There was something especially intoxicating about having to carry his bloated, heavy body from one space to the next and all with the intention of glutting himself into place with dessert. The thought of it was already filling him with a tingling anticipation, heightened all the more so by having an audience. He’d never done this before, reserving his overindulgence to be done in private. A part of him could hardly believe that he was choosing to do this with Potter, but there was something about him that seemed happy to go along with whatever it was that Draco wanted. And to that, Draco settled himself heavily into the chair, shifting around to get his sides to squeeze in between the armrests. He touched each side thoughtfully, wondering if he ate enough if he might actually find himself stuck in his seat.   
  
“If you would do me the kindness of preparing a plate for each of us?” he said, letting the uncertainty he felt inflect his voice. He wasn’t sure if Potter would feel amenable to being ordered around and could certainly understand some sensitivity around. But perhaps it was the sight of his engorged, lumbering figure that implied it was simply the most strategic way to begin their meal.   
  
“Yes, of course. Anything in particular you’d like to start with?” Harry asked.   
  
“Hm, perhaps let’s get everything on the table first,” Draco suggested, watching as Potter investigated the various trays still shelved on the cart. Feeling self-conscious about the effort that was about to take, Draco started to raise himself up, but Potter pressed him back down gently.   
  
“Let me,” he said quietly. Draco nodded and watched after him, trying to understand what it was that Potter got out of this. He was quite accustomed to people being enthusiastic about his weight and the idea of him getting even fatter as a result of his indulgences, and included himself in that number, but it felt rare to have someone so eager to attentively dote upon him. Not that he was about to criticize how Potter derived satisfaction from his sexual encounters, but it left Draco rather wondering how he might reciprocate. After all, if he really were to eat all of this, he wasn’t going to be able to move all that much by time he finished. He sighed.   
  
“Potter, just-just what is it that you’d like to happen tonight?”   
  
“What do you mean?”   
  


“I just think that it would be in good faith to tell you that if I eat all of that I might not be so...capable.”   
  
“Er-you mean you might not want to have sex?”   
  
“I mean that I might not be able to. It’s not terribly comfortable to after I’ve eaten my...fill. I’m happy to restrain myself if your expectations are-”   
  
“No! No, I...this is what you like, right? Better than anything? Because that’s what I want. Honestly. But thank-you for offering.”   
  
“Right...well, then. I’d like to start with the braised pork.”   
  
“Good, because I was hoping to get at the roast myself.”   
  


* * *

  
Some time later after continuing what was surprisingly good table banter and his fourth plate, Draco had to stop Potter from loading up another plate of what (little) remained. Potter had eaten about as modestly as Draco had expected which at present, was not feeling terribly helpful given how indecently stuffed he was. He was leaned back as far as he could manage, his thighs set as wide as his seat would allow to let his belly some more room.   
  
He laughed, a faint sound between his short, laboured breaths.   
  
“Are you alright?” Potter asked.   
  
“I’m-it hardly covers anything, but even this harness feels tight right now.”

  
“Which is nothing to say of your pants,” Potter said, smiling as he glanced downwards. The tight, unforgiving  _ leather _ pants had been unbuttoned ages ago to let his gut settle more comfortable beneath the lower curve of his belly. Not that you could see that either with how heavily his gut was settled over his lap.   
  
After feeding himself, Potter had watched him for some time, until it was clear that Draco was struggling to finish. Then, he’d come and taken the seat adjacent, and with it, taken up the duty of bringing each forkful up to his mouth. Usually, when left on his own, Draco would stop, too fatigued and uncomfortable to reach over his own burgeoning mass to continue eating. With help however, he felt tighter than he had in ages. He hadn’t had nearly enough alcohol to be drunk but filled so painfully with food he felt himself swooning in the euphoria of it. Why hadn’t he tried harder to find an accomplice sooner? He’d have gotten to the kind of fat he so eagerly aspired to by now.   
  
Palming the soft sides of his belly he checked with himself to see if he dared to even lift the bulging mass in front of him or if it’d just make him feel ill. Deciding against it he shifted in his seat and then bit his lip, suddenly reminded by the armrests now digging firmly into him that he might actually need assistance out of his seat. Underneath the thick cover of his middle, he felt his cock throb at the thought of it. He opened his eyes and tilted his head back up.   
  
“There’s still dessert, right?”   
  
Potter let out a shaky breath.   
  
“Fuck. Yes.”   
  
Draco shifted up a little more, examining Potter carefully. He wasn’t just a good sport, it seemed, but just as legitimately turned on as he was and without the mercy of a thick belly to hide himself. If he could bloody move, which he very much could not, Draco would have reached over and palmed at his cock to take in the size of it. As interested as he was to investigate that detail, he was deliriously pleased that they’d decided to forgo that exchange so that he could experience this tight, explosive feeling of bliss that bloomed out in front of him.   
  
“Let me try to get up,” he huffed out, already anticipating failure but wanting to measure just how badly. Potter nodded numbly, watching him. Draco took in as deep a breath as he could, but winced as he felt it pack in his body tighter. Potter was biting his lip again, watching with a mixture of awe and concern and looking flush with his arousal. God, they’d barely even touched one another yet, Draco prefer to rub at his own needy belly while Potter had fed him between appreciative squeezes. He let out a groan, preparing to try again. His palms felt sweaty as he gripped the armrests, thumbs digging into his fat, bulging sides and he breathed in again and tried to dislodge himself.   
  
Immediately, it was clear that he was wedged in a lot more tightly than he’d meant to allow and as he managed to get some weight on his feet he realized that the chair was  _ following _ after his massive arse. With some effort he tried to get himself free, but when that availed to nothing he fell back into himself with surprise. He honestly thought he’d be able to at least, though not gracefully, get himself out of his seat. Beneath him the chair creaked and he and Potter locked gazes, both equally as fearful as they were thrilled at the prospect of  _ breaking _ the damned chair.   
  
“Hah,” Draco wheezed. “I...seem to be stuck.”   
  
He would have smirked at the look of pained confusion and arousal on Potter’s face if he wasn’t himself suffering from an intoxicating wave of it himself.   
  
“Well,” Potter said, swallowing hard. “I can’t...leave you there if we want to get to dessert.”   
  
Before either of them could say anything else, Potter had pulled out his wand and Draco felt himself burn with embarrassment as he realized that Potter was going to have to  _ magic him out of the bloody chair _ .   
  
“How are your charm spells?” Draco asked warily as Potter levelled his wand at him.   
  
“Quite good actually,” he assured. “You’re in good hands, trust me.”   
  
It should have sounded saccharine and excessive, but the thing was, Draco actually did really trust Potter. If he shut his eyes as Potter muttered out a spell to expand the seat wider, it was more because of how painfully he was stuffed than it was out of fear of him bungling the charm.   
  
As the seat expanded around him he was able to let out a sigh of relief at the feeling of his body sagging into it. Everything still felt tight, but the relief of once again occupying an unrestricted space was enthralling. And the thought of finishing his meal didn’t seem so impossible anymore. He breathed in, still tight, and braced himself to stand. It took some effort; he was bloated now, his stomach feeling stretched and unwieldy as it burst out forth in front of him. Normally, he might try to rock himself forward to get the momentum to get up, but as he did so the heaviness of his belly felt dangerously compressed and he gingerly settled back. Tentatively, he held his belly, as though trying to stay it’s motion.   
  
“I require your assistance, Potter,” he said faintly. “I’m simply too full.”   
  
Potter nodded, speechless and reached out to offer his hand. Draco took it and used the other to help push himself upwards. It was much smoother this time, though he could see Potter straining. That would have thrilled him more if it didn’t draw so much attention to how starved Potter looked. Nonetheless, they got him to his feet. Once standing, he waved Potter off and clutched at his belly. If he wasn’t waddling before, he certainly was well, his whole body trying to accommodate for the ridiculously bulged out swell of his gut. Stuffed like this it had a presence all of its own.   
  
He got himself to the side of the bed and when he turned was surprised to see Potter there, hand offering to help lower himself. Nervous about jostling himself too much as he sat, he took Potter’s hands again.   
  
“Thank-you,” he said.   
  
He let Potter help lower him onto the bed and tried not to look too pained as he maneuvered himself back against the headboard. He was sweating with both exertion and from the sheer amount of food he’d already eaten. Thoughtfully he rubbed his hands over the large, needy curve in front of him. His  _ tits _ rested on the hard swell that’d pushed upwards, the nipples large and pink.   
  
“We should get your pants off,” Potter suggested, coming up from the end of the bed. “Can you lift up for a second?”   
  
Draco flashed an annoyed look. Not at Potter, but with himself for even bothering to keep them on once he realized just how much he was going to allow himself to eat in front of Potter. Still, he arched up, trying to carefully cant his hips up enough so that Potter could work them off. Leather of course, was stubborn and his thighs were quickly burning with the effort. The leather peeled off, sticky with sweat and it was slow work as Potter tried not to shake him too much as he worked it over his thick, rolling hips. As the leather came down, it revealed his black jock strap and as the cooler air of the room hit his skin made him acutely aware of how much his flesh was bulging out from around it.   
  
How this felt so hot to him was mystifying. Even with so many kilos stacked on to his body and through all the time it’d taken to accumulate them, he didn’t really have a clear answer for why  _ this _ was the thing that made him feel so aware and present in his body. His dick, pressed up into the lower part of his belly, and he couldn’t help but whine. Potter stopped.   
  
“Are you alright?”   
  
He whined again.   
  
“I’m-yes,” he stuttered out.  _ I’m so fucking horny _ . “Just get these off of me.”   
  
He sighed, letting himself lower back down now that he was fairly certain Potter had gotten everything low enough that the last of it shouldn’t be so laborious for either of them. It took a little more shimmying, but didn’t force him to set his belly swaying like the surface of a turbulent sea. Closing his eyes he imagined if he could do this all the time; stuff himself so full that he needed  _ help _ just to manage getting out of his chair and to the bed. It’d been easier before, but now the help to get this full was a necessity. If he could do this all the time, he’d be able to break past this plateau weight easily. Maybe even past it, if he so felt the need. Opening his eyes again he looked down at himself, trying to image the proud, wobbling dome of his belly being this ludicrously rounded all the time. How heavy would that even be? The look of it was so appealing and he felt his mouth go dry.   
  
He cleared his throat.   
  
“Could I have a glass of milk please?” he asked, pushing his sweat dampened hair back.   
  
“Yes, of course. I’ll be right back.”   
  
In the time that it took Potter to go get him a glass of milk and return he had somewhat regathered himself. This whole evening was  _ perfectly _ indecent. With one hand on his side he downed the glass, feeling his stomach tighten even further. He was well past what he needed, but now with more room to spread out on the bed, he felt that he could fit in more.   
  
He glanced down, feeling fingers gently following along the swell of his hip and down his thigh.   
  
“Your skin is so smooth,” Potter said.   
  
“Small fortune in lotions and oils. To help with the stretch marks,” Draco explained breathily. He leaned back, gauging if he actually could keep eating without doing something unseemly. Feeling some gas coming up he discreetly let it expel quietly into his hand. Shifting, he turned to his side, letting his belly fall over and the mattress take some of the weight. Yes, he could continue.   
  
“Do you want to keep eating?” Harry asked, barely above a whisper as Draco adjusted himself. With the way his arm was positioned and how much space his belly took up he felt acutely aware of how tightly his chest was pressing together and looked like small, budding breasts. It wouldn’t be long until those really shook with the rest of him every time he moved. Gingerly, he rubbed his belly, trying to soothe it’s overtaxed, tight feeling.   
  
“I can finish if you feed me,” he drawled.   
  
He glanced at Potter and could see that he was practically trembling as much with anticipation as he was with the aching, exquisite comfort of being stuffed.   
  
“I’ll go get the last of it,” he said, leaving again and taking the empty glass with him. Draco couldn’t tell if it was a habit or politeness but either way he’d been appreciating how tidy Potter was with clearing plates and bringing them into the small kitchenette attached to the room. Especially because he’d never done much of it himself, Draco wasn’t keen on cleaning himself, always letting the staff handle it.   
  
Reclined as he was he felt especially massive and indolent, like a bloated noble. His body was lavish, the decadence of his lifestyle on magnificent display and his confidence piqued narcissism and even despite all this he moved his hands over himself and imagined himself  _ even fatter _ . In his current euphoria it truly felt as though there were no limits. He’d thought three hundred pounds sounded like a nice, reputable number in his head but why shouldn’t he aspire to go beyond that? Though he was nearly immobile, anchored down by the weight of his own plush, exquisite body, he didn’t think that he really looked all that fat. It compelled him to imagine needing assistance to get through his day; he didn’t wish to be so helpless as to never be seen, he supposed that was a border. But the way Potter marvelled at his size; how much more would it take for everyone to look and simply be gobsmacked by how inflated he was?

  
He whimpered, trying to reach around his belly and palm his own cock. He couldn’t reach, not in any way that would be satisfying. Bashfully, he withdrew and waited patiently for Potter to return, leaning himself back slightly so that he wasn’t hunching around the painful tightness of his globular body surging out before him. In this position, he chin doubled and he could feel the flesh bunching underneath and pointedly forcing the second one out. He felt like a hyperbolic example of an odalisque, curves protuberant and bulging out dramatically.   
  
It was in this impressive state of corpulence that Potter returned with a massive slice of what looked to be chocolate torte drizzled with an opulent ganache.   
  
“Would you believe me,” Draco began, while still trying to catch his breath. “That I really only eat so much to justify dessert?”   
  
Potter smiled, seeming to have also regathered himself in his short absence.   
  
“I never took you for having much of a sweet tooth,” he said, taking a seat beside him on the large bed.   
  
“I never let myself be fat before,” Draco said, shrugging a rounded shoulder. “I didn’t know how good it could be.”   
  
“You really enjoy it, don’t you?” Potter asked, carving off the first sliver of the torte.   
  
“Is that so hard to believe?” Draco asked before accepting the forkful.   
  
Potter looked thoughtful.   
  
“I mean...a little. You always seemed to care so much about what people thought of you.”   
  
“To impress my father.”   
  
“You don’t care about that anymore, do you?”   
  
This conversation was edging a little too close to being personal. But Draco sighed; Blaise and Adrienne didn’t ever come near the topic but Potter was too forward to give much to the sense of foreboding around the issue.   
  
“I’d rather be indecently fat than care much about it,” Draco said lightly, then opened his mouth expectantly for his next bite.   
  
“You’ve certainly made a good show of it,” Potter said appreciatively. He looked down at the torte and though there were a generous amount served on the plate, enough for two the way that Draco was sure it was intended. “Are you sure this is enough? If you love dessert so much I mean?”   
  
“There’s a pint of ice cream in the freezer for later,” Draco said, chuckling. “I may need a rest after this.”   
  
He was already feeling dozy, warm with the thought of how all this exorbitant indulgence was going to melt into more fat on his already plush and rounded body. Every part of him was fat now, but he was thrilled at the thought of the uppermost roll of his belly merging back into the first, of his chest filling out into thick breasts and how his already doubling chin would lead into an even thicker neck. Sometimes he thought about how thin he’d been and tried to imagine going back to that state; but it wasn’t a point of return. He felt that his fleshy, massive body was a point of  _ arrival _ . The sheer size of him announced him to any that looked and...they didn’t think of the Draco Malfoy who’d been a Death Eater first anymore. Instead he looked soft, safe and inert and from there he could actually...carry on. He wasn’t a weapon for a war he hardly believed in.   
  
“What are you thinking about?” Harry asked. Draco looked up, realizing they’d been quiet for some time as Harry fed him. There was a gentleness about him and this that felt intoxicatingly good he realized.   
  
“How I actually like myself now,” he replied, surprising even himself. It was strange that this cycle of stuffing himself to and beyond the point of pain and adding more and more layers of softness to his body felt right, and stranger still that it could arouse him so thoroughly but it was an occupation of his own choice. Maybe he’d get bored of it one day but it wasn’t anything anyone was imposing on him.   
  
“There’s…” he trailed, unsure if he wanted to venture into any deeper conversation than necessary. Well. They’d gotten this far. “There’s something about seeing how other people have been forced to look at me differently and then being able to see myself differently as well.”   
  
Potter looked thoughtful as he digested the reply.   
  
“I can understand that,” he replied. “I wish I could...sort out what other people thought of me without thinking about  _ The Boy Who Lived _ first.”   
  
“Well, gaining over sixty kilos seems to do the trick,” Draco said airily, leaning forward to the forkful of torte that was hovering between them. Potter laughed.   
  
“I’m far too anxious for that.”   
  
“Afraid of what people will think of you?”   
  
“Oh, no more like...I perpetually feel sick to the stomach from being so bloody nervous,” he laughed. But Draco frowned.   
  
“Potter, as much as I’d delight to see you fill out from the view of my own proclivities and perversions, you really don’t look well.”   
  
Potter sighed and nodded, setting the plate in his lap.   
  
“No, I know,” he admitted. He looked a bit flush, perhaps from the attention and gave his head a slight shake. “Thank-you for caring. Really.”   
  
There was an older part of him that wanted to snap back and say that he didn’t care but he smothered it out because he really wouldn’t have meant it and especially not while laying engorged and prone in front of the man. But there was also...yes, he had empathy for Potter, despite it all. He wordlessly took in another bite as it was pressed gently to his lips and the sweet, rich flavour of chocolate once again flooded his mouth. It really was good. Much of the dinner had been acceptable, nothing especially noteworthy but the chef had outdone themselves on the torte.   
  
“Would it help to get out of the city? Even...if it were to another city? The property I’ve taken residence of in Paris has..more than enough space,” Draco faltered, realizing what he was offering was perhaps too much. “Ah, if you...feel that you might benefit from some time away. You’re welcome to come stay with me. We don’t don’t have to do any of this if you don’t want to.”   
  
“You’d...invite me to stay with you?” Harry blanched.   
  
“I’ve surprised myself,” Draco said dryly. “But yes, I would.”   
  
“That’s...thank-you. Er-I might...I’ll think about it.”   
  
“Do. Paris can be as overwhelming as any city, but it’s less likely you’d be noticed so easily, I think.”   
  
This was a very strange night indeed. He really meant it. After all, he’d left London for much the same reason. And it wasn’t so strange really; if one had such expansive properties it was well within social normal to invite company to occupy them. He’d lived alone for quite some time now and perhaps a change would be rejuvenating.   
  
“You don’t think Rita Skeeter would follow me?” Harry chuckled.   
  
“Surely not if the Prophet doesn’t cover her accommodations. And if she came on her own I can’t imagine her staying long on her own salary.”   
  
Harry laughed, easing back into the comfort they’d established between one another throughout the evening.   
  
“No, I suppose not.”   
  
He brought another bite to Draco’s lips and Draco had to draw back slightly, pausing and adjusting to see if he even had room. The thought of vomiting was particularly repulsive given that he had company.

  
“You don’t have to finish,” Potter assured him. Draco arched his back, stretching out as carefully as he could.   
  
“I like being fat, but love being positively gorged,” he admitted.

  
“You look...like I’m having a hard time putting prettier words to it because basically I just think you look incredibly fucking hot right now.”   
  
“Are you sure this isn’t a thing for you?” Draco asked, still unconvinced.   
  
“I  _ swear _ . I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d been with people fatter than you, but it’s kind of...I dunno, coincidence? You just look so...relaxed and happy and it’s really sexy.”   
  
Feeling bold, Draco reached up and cupped one of his little handfuls of a breast and squeezed.   
  
“Does it turn you on?”   
  
He smirked as he watched Potter swallow and nod.   
  
“ _ Yes _ , so much.”   
  
“What if I was bigger? Would you still find it sexy if I was bigger? Even fatter than the fattest person you’ve ever been with? Because you’re definitely doing well in helping me get there tonight.”   
  
“It’s hard to imagine you looking even better,” Potter said, voice low and raw. “But you’d look so good.”   
  
Draco felt a twinge of regret for letting himself bloat himself so thoroughly tonight because he wanted to tease Potter more. He wanted to feel the smaller man underneath him, sink his fat belly over his face and let the man ravish him. As it was, they’d be lucky to tip him back over onto his back. Perhaps if Potter would take him up on his offer to lodge with him in Paris.   
  
He glanced down at the torte, nearly finished between them.   
  
“Feed me the rest of that and then show me how turned on you are,” he demanded.   
  
“Fuck, right,” Potter said, suddenly flustered. Draco eyed him carefully, still trying to figure out what it was that was working so well for Potter in this scenario. He seemed to like being told what to do which was a bit surprising but he supposed that after having the entire wizarding world resting on his shoulders it was nice to let someone else steer the course of things for a while. The regret flared up a bit again as Draco was overtaken with a vision of driving his fat body into him, thick belly resting up on his ass and simply hoping that he could get each of them off quickly enough before he ran out of stamina.   
  
It didn’t take long to feed him the rest of the cake and Potter watched him hungrily, awaiting instruction as he swallowed. Though he could barely breathe again, Draco mustered up the air to oblige.   
  
“Go get the ice cream; I want it soft for when I’m ready to eat it.”   
  
Potter leapt up, lithe and agile and, Draco frowned as he realized, still nearly entirely dressed. They’d have to rectify that.

When Potter returned he set the pint of ice cream at the bedside with a spoon and faltered again.   
  
“Take off your shirt and show me how pretty you are,” Draco said, hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth. But Potter took them, pupils blown wide and began to strip. As he pulled off his shirt, the jutting ribs of his lean torso were revealed and even though it was alarming Draco couldn’t ignore that despite it, Potter was quite beautiful. He was skinny, too skinny, true, but he had a pleasant shape about him and the muscles that hadn’t been eaten away by hunger were pleasing to watch as they shifted beneath his skin.   
  
“Come here,” Draco beckoned, turning himself carefully onto his back. Potter obeyed and came forward, straddling Draco’s thick thighs.   
  
“I can feel how hard you are against my gut,” Draco said, forcing his belly out into him. “Think you can get yourself off on it?”   
  
Potter’s hands clenched tightly at the soft, bulging roll above the tighter part of his belly.   
  
“Yeah, pretty sure,” he said, grinding in slowly. “Maybe I should take my jeans off?”   
  
“Please,” Draco said. “It’s chafing.”   
  
“Ah sorry,” Potter said, leaning back to unbutton. Draco shook his head.   
  
“I told you to do it. I’m just…more sensitive there than I realized.”   
  
“Do you have lube?”   
  
“Bedside table. In the drawer, next to the bible.”   
  
Potter laughed.   
  
“Right, of course. I’ve been told it’s pretty smutty.”   
  
Draco laughed, and winced at the panging pinch it made in his gut.   
  
“Oh please, no jokes. I can’t laugh, I’m sure I’ll vomit.”   
  
Potter paused from his undressing and tenderly moved his hands over Draco’s belly.   
  
“Maybe not the best idea for me to get off on your rather ponderous and tender paunch then?” he suggested teasingly. “I’m not sure I trust myself.”   
  
“Maybe not the best,” Draco agreed, though privately lamented it. God, he wasn’t sure he’d ever had sex like this. The few times he’d let men touch him in this state hadn’t been favourable; they seemed excited for the “ruined”, “destroyed” aspects of getting fat and he found that he rather disagreed. He was  _ art _ . To be handled with care, not manhandled to satisfy their own insecurities. And while it was clear that there was to be no satisfaction found in the feeling of soft against soft with Potter, he appreciated the care and reverence in which he was being treated.   
  
But hell, if he could get Potter off on him just from the enveloping warmth of his  _ ponderous and tender paunch  _ sometime in the future? The thought thrilled him.   
  
“You look ravishing,” Potter said, clambering off of him so that he could properly get out of his jeans. “I’m so glad you talked to me tonight.”   
  
“Well,” Draco wheezed. “You looked a bit put out. Attractive, but put out.”

“As long as you don’t regret it.”   
  
“No, I don’t regret it. Provided this isn’t all some clever rouse and you’re actually working for the papers and plan to take compromising photos of me in this rather corpulent state.”   
  
“Mm, if I had photos like that I don’t think I’d be so generous as to share them,” Potter said disapprovingly.   
  
“Good, because I haven’t ever let anyone see me quite like this,” Draco said, rubbing his belly and trying to soothe it. Between how stuffed he was and how eager he was finding himself for this exchange it felt like his stomach was working even harder than it would normally have to in order to process everything. Fuck, he was fat though; as he reached as far as he could to the lower part of his belly it was clear the was no bloody way he was going to be able to reach his own prick like this. He supposed that was the advantage of a proper feeder at a certain point. He quickly shut the idea down. Surely Potter wouldn’t want to spend quite that much time with him. As good as this all felt, they were going to part ways and even if Potter came to Paris, he absolutely meant it when he said that none of this had to be a part of his occupancy there.

  
Potter quickly shucked off his jeans and crawled back into the bed, kneeling beside him and looking demure but expectant as he covered his cock with both hands.   
  
“Show me,” Draco insisted.   
  
Tentatively, Potter moved his hands away and yes, it was clear that he was extremely turned on by their situation. Unfortunately, Draco wasn’t sure he could even bloody move to do anything about it. So instead, he continued to rub his gut, coaxing out the cramps and decided to tell Potter just what he wanted to see.   
  
“Lay down.”   
  
Potter obliged, again reaching down to cover himself.   
  
“You’re so shy,” Draco tisked. “I want to see how you get yourself off.”   
  
He tried not to shiver as he heard Potter let out a shuddering breath.   
  
“Go on,” Draco urged, though not unkindly. “I’m so stuffed I can’t help you.”   
  
“I can’t believe how much you ate,” Potter said between breaths as he took himself out of his briefs. Draco adjusted himself so that he could see him of the surging swell of his own belly.   
  
“I have to, if I want to get bigger,” Draco said, watching hungrily. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but Potter was...kind of big. Not comically, but very appeasingly. Shit, he shouldn’t have eaten so bloody much or else he could have done more. Next time, next time.  _ Oh please, let there be a next time. _ _   
_ _   
_ “Bigger? How big, Malfoy?”   
  
“136 kilos is the next goal. It’s the American 300, which seems like a nice place to start.”   
  
“To  _ start _ ?” Potter asked, gripping himself.   
  
“I’m not sure that the number matches what I envision as ideal in my head,” Draco offered. “I don’t feel big enough. Would you see me bigger?”   
  
_ “Yes.” _ _   
_ _   
_ “Good. Because tonight was revelatory; needing your help was inspiring. I could have been trapped in that bloody chair for hours.”   
  
At that, Potter laughed and his face winced in the pain of humour and arousal.   
  
“Can-can you imagine?”   
  
“Oh, all too clearly,” Draco affirmed. “But don’t worry so much about me, you look like you need to work through that.”   
  
Potter gasped, arching into his own hand as he tried to work himself up to release. Draco piped down, offering small encouragements as he want and admiring the sharp, flat planes of his body. He’d looked like that once too, nearly every bone and sinew on display. It wasn’t bad he supposed; Potter was so pretty all mussed and undone as he was. Still he couldn’t help but think of him with a bit more meat on his bones. Not so much for his own fetishistic interests, but just an assurance that he was taking care of himself.   
  
He felt an unexpected flare of anger swell up underneath everything; had no one been paying mind to Potter? He truly looked dreadful. If the nit did come to Paris, he’d at least make sure that he was bloody eating enough to not waste away before his eyes.   
  
Determined to not sour the evening he turned his full attention back to Potter and the heaving, writing planes of his body as he stroked his cock. A small keening noise escaped his own mouth again as he tried to reach for himself. He could get his fingers to brush against the shaft of his own cock, but again, there was little hope of comfortably bringing himself off.   
  
He froze; Potter had heard him and saw that he couldn’t reach himself. Though he seemed close himself, Draco marvelled as he put it aside and straddled Draco again and leaned over his impressive girth to get the lube.   
  
“I think I can handle us both,” he said simply, squeezing some lube into his hand.

Draco tried not to squirm underneath him but his words set his whole body tingling. He shivered as Potter covered him with the cold gel and felt it shudder through the entirety of his gorged body. Some greedy part of him wanted an extra set of hands massaging his belly, another mouth to suck at his budding tits that sagged off to each side of him. He was surprised to note that his hedonistic pleasures extended even beyond even just gluttony, desiring more worship. His mind blanked out however as Potter took hold of both their slick cocks and began pumping. He even cried out, not realizing how badly it was that he’d wanted to be touched, content with just the excruciating, consuming pain of his stuffing. Potter didn’t stop, pumping rhythmically, steady and certain. His body jostled and shook around him, every pound evident even as he tried to still himself.   
  
“You’re beautiful,” Potter said through what sounded like gritted teeth. And that was enough, enough to send him reeling as his body ejaculated hot and blinding white behind his eyes as he came. His body, a shuddering quivering mess barely registered Potter’s own seed bursting hot up over his gut as he caved in over him. As best he could, he clasped at Potter’s thin body, pressing it into him, absorbing the shuddering effort of his orgasm into his soft, safe, overindulged and glutted body.   
  
They laid like that, bodies heaving and collapsed into one another for some time afterwards and it felt...Draco wasn’t sure. It felt like it promised more than one night. He couldn’t think of another encounter with someone that felt this satisfying, his limbs heavy and weighed down by his own ample and luxuriant fat as much as they were by the deeply seated satisfaction of legitimately enjoying someone’s body against his. Was it because it was Potter specifically? He couldn’t be sure, but at least he seemed to be of complimentary proclivities.   
  
Draco reached up to Potter’s slim sides and gently pressed him back.   
  
“It’s hard to breathe when I’m so full,” he said.   
  
“Oh! No, fuck, I’m sorry,” Potter said, pushing off and landing on the mattress beside him. “Sorry.”   
  
Draco waved his hand in dismissal.   
  
“Don’t be I’m...extremely satisfied at the moment.”   
  
Potter turned on his side and shifted so that they were flush against one another again.

  
“Yeah?”   
  
“ _ Yes. _ Very much so.”    
  
He tried not to shudder at the feeling of Potter’s hand sweeping gently across the wide expanse of his belly. And bit back another cry as that hand reached up and squeezed a tit. Then tried simply to keep hold of some piece of reality when Potter dove in and covered his mouth over a peaking nipple and teased it tight with his tongue. It was almost too much, nearly enough for him to slap Potter and his overly curious mouth away but he...did not. Instead, arched back into the feeling of it, babbling encouragement and moaning in satisfaction. He could already feel his dick hardening once again as though in defiance and found himself haplessly reaching for it again.

“Oh? Eager, aren’t you?” Potter whispered breathily into his side. In a surprising action of measured  _ cruelty _ , Potter was light tracing the line of his hardening cock again with his fingertips.   
  
“Can you reach for yourself?” he asked.   
  
Draco shuddered, incapable of resisting the teasing.   
  
_ “No.” _   
  
As though he could possible reach after all he’d eaten this night.   
  
“If you promise to finish that pint of ice cream, I’ll suck you off,” Potter whispered, palming Draco’s cock.

  
_ “Yes,”  _ Draco pleaded.  _ “Yes, _ I’ll finish.”   
  
He was already haphazardly reaching for the pint of icecream he’d left, sure that it wouldn’t need a spoon and that he could simply suck it down as quickly as he could manage instead. Sure enough, once he’d had hold of it, he realized that he must be more careful as not to have it slop over the edges. He cried out, struggling to manage the maneuver as Potter closed his hot little mouth over one of his nipples and sucked. Feeling suddenly very disadvantaged he couldn’t help but cry out, trying not to spill. Instead of withdrawing however, Potter seemed only further invigorated, moving downwards, kissing and biting gently as he moved lower.   
  
Though he’d just come minutes before, Draco could feel his cock harden again and bit down tightly. Potter spared nothing, taking in a small bit of flabby underbelly and nipping lightly. Was it possible to come just from that? From the way his prick was throbbing it seemed possible. His especially sensitive underbelly was nearly too much to bear. Potter spared him true torture when he drew up, bracing each side of his belly and starting to rub in circular motions over-top.   
  
“Go on, finish it,” he said gently. “Don’t you want to get bigger?”   
  
Draco didn’t bother with a reply and instead brought the melted ice cream to his lips and began chugging as quickly as he could manage. In his eagerness some of it spilled over and Potter came forward to lap it up, swirling his tongue around his pebbled nipple with a flourish. Some part of him wanted to ask how it was that Potter seem just so adept at this again but instead, he continued to swallow massive mouthfuls of the heavy dessert and let Potter tease his cock with one hand and suck at his softened form with his mouth.   
  
He pulled back for a moment.   
  
“I’m nearly done,” he informed, in a tone that he hoped suggested very much that Potter follow through on his promise to suck him off. Dutifully, Potter dropped down and ran his tongue up his cock before he had a chance to say anything else and then took him in whole. He could feel Potter beneath him as he tried to finish the dessert, felt him trying to maneuver for room and took mercy and lifted up his gut to try and provide more room. As full as he was however, he wasn’t sure that it was much help.   
  
Nonetheless, just as soon as he was lapping up the last of the dessert, he was lost in the surging heat of coming for a second time. He shuddered mightily, gut and tits wobbling as he thudded back into the mattress. Sweat slicked his forehead again and he pushed his hair back, trying and not trying to regain his composure. Down below, Potter was nuzzling tenderly against the flabby insides of his thighs, making him shiver and shake each time he sucked on the delicate flesh. He hoped that it was hard enough to leave hickeys, evidence of this strange, chance encounter with one another.   
  
Laid back in the mattress, his chest and belly heaving up before him, he finally felt spent.   
  
“I do hope,” he huffed out. “That you’re serious about taking me up on my offer to come to Paris.”   
  
He was so dizzy with elation that he could hardly hear Potter’s answer.   
  
“I think I’d like that. Very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could be inspired to write a follow-up.


End file.
